The Good, The Bad, and The Angry
by Marie of Romania
Summary: We all have our problems: procrastination, depression, anxiety. It just so happens that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter both suffer from extreme anger issues. Or at least, Dr. Gerald Wynter seems to think so.
1. Trouble In Your Trousers

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. Lucky woman.**

**Summery: We all have our problems; procrastination, depression, anxiety. It just so happens that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter both suffer from extreme anger issues. Or at least, Dr. Gerald Wynter seems to think so. Join Harry and Draco as they are wrongly accused of suffering from deep-rooted anger and forced to attend anger management classes, eventually learning how to control their rage, how to express it in a healthy way, and maybe even how to…get along? **_**Implied**_** Slash (but not **_**real**_** slash, sorry)**

**A/N: Yes ladies and gentlemen, I'm at it again! But don't worry; I'll try my best to update Divine Torment, just saving up on my creative juices is all.**

oOoOoOo

All was peaceful at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sun had just risen from its hiding place, just behind the distant mountains, causing an orange glow to invade the inky blackness of night. The Lake was unusually calm, its glassy surface unperturbed by any restless sea creatures. The Forbidden Forrest was also serene, not even the sound of ruffling trees invaded the unearthly silence. Within Hogwarts was a tranquil stillness, absent of its usual hustling and bustling. The halls were completely empty, and one could tell that all the occupants of the castle were still tucked in their nice warm beds, blissfully unaware of anything other than their dreams-

"WHAT THE HELL?"

Or not.

The sound of the thunderous yell plagued the pristine silence, causing many a student to wake up with a start.

A/N: Whoops, I'm getting a wee bit ahead of myself. Better rewind here. Hits rewind button. Okay, here we go.

One Day Earlier...

Draco Malfoy had been having an unusually good day. He had woken up refreshed, told off Potter and Friends a couple times, earned house points from Snape for no apparent reason, tormented Longbottom during Potions, and even got the chance to aggravate Potter a bit more after lunch. Ah yes, life was good. At least, in the world of Draco Malfoy. But we all know that never lasts long, right?

Draco was just casually sauntering down the halls, humming a little tune, and searching for innocent first or second years to prey upon when he heard a strange sound emitting from the broom closet a few feet from his shoes.

Curious, Draco halted in front of the door, debating whether to open it or not. It could be that someone stuffed some barmy monster in there, thought Draco warily. Or…it could be Potter!

The temptation was too great. With his prefect badge Draco could easily punish Saint Potter, take points off his bloody Gryffindork house, and maybe even give him detention for a month! Or better yet, for the rest of his life!

Eager to punish Harry Potter for doing noisy things in broom closets, Draco quickly flung open the door, a horrendous sight meeting his eyes.

There, smothered against the school broomsticks and the empty potion jars, was none other than Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off a blonde, and rather large-chested Ravenclaw.

Draco's mouth flew open in a silent scream as he instantly stepped back, suddenly realizing with distaste whom exactly was in the broom closet and what they were doing.

A/N: hits pause button. Now, let's get one thing straight: kissing was most certainly not a foreign thing to Draco Malfoy. In fact, Draco Malfoy spent about two thirds of his life kissing random girls (no, he's not gay in this fic). The thing was; he usually was one of the people doing the kissing, not the one watching someone else do it, least of all a fellow Slytherin. So, when Draco unwittingly stumbled across Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off a blonde and rather large-chested Ravenclaw, you can imagine that he panicked. However, it could have been much worse for our young Slytherin; he could have found Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off of, not a young sexy girl, but rather, a more…confused…male. In all honesty, Draco was surprised; he suspected Blaise of being gay for some time now.

Now, where were we? Oh yes…

"What the in bleeding hell do you think you're doing, Zabini?" exclaimed Draco furiously, frantically rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to have to burn my eyes out!"

Draco heard what sounded like a very wet plunger being pulled from the ground and he cautiously opened his eyes.

"Sod off, Malfoy," snapped Blaise irritably, looking quite peeved at the interruption. "Don't you have better things to do then disrupt our study sessions?"

"Study…sessions?" asked Draco skeptically, sending the pair one of his trademark Malfoy Smirks.

The girl glared at him defiantly. "Yes, and I was learning a lot too, until you showed up."

"Yeah, so get lost, Malfoy," sneered Blaise, tousling his already disheveled black hair. "That is, unless you want to join in…" Blaise waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Draco wrinkled his posh nose in disgust. "In your dreams, you bloody pansy. Now, seeing as I'm a prefect, I believe it is my duty to give the both of you detention for…doing…such things…in broom closets!"

Draco held up his hand when Zabini and the girl started to protest. "But, since I'm so nice-" Here Blaise scoffed. "-I'll give you a chance. So you-" Draco pointed at the girl. "-take your nice-looking arse and get lost."

The girl pouted.

"Should I take points from Ravenclaw?" threatened Draco, pointing to his shiny badge.

She shook her head.

"I didn't think so. So bloody leave already."

The girl glowered murderously at Draco as she brushed past him, nose in the air.

"Now what'd you have to go and do that for?" asked Blaise grumpily, picking himself off the ground. "You sound just like Mudblood Granger."

Draco scowled at him. "Now, there's no need to compare me with such filth, Zabini. Besides, I'd bet my ridiculously expensive broomstick that you're only jealous of my prefect privileges."

"And what? Spend time sulking around the hallways when I could be snogging beautiful girls?"

Draco sneered. "Girls, Zabini? And here I thought you always played on the other Quidditch team, if you know what I mean."

"Aww, Malfoy," smirked Blaise. "I never knew you fancied me so much. Is the infamous Draco Malfoy feeling a bit lonely today? So sorry, Malfoy, but I can't help you there."

"Stuff it, Zabini."

"Now, now, Draki-poo, there's no need for such rudeness. Rejection is a natural part of life, you know."

Draco scowled. "Don't flatter yourself."

"Perish the thought! I was only trying to comfort you in your time of need."

"Zabini…" growled Draco threateningly, giving him a glare that would frighten even the most ferociously offended hippogriff (heh, he should have used that glare in third year, eh?).

However, Blaise seemed impervious to such looks, and continued his monologue happily as the two of them began to walk.

"Really, Malfoy, it's okay, you can say it: 'my name is Draco Malfoy and I have a problem: I hate my life and wish I had someone to love me and take care of me.'"

"Go shove a bloody spoon down your throat, Zabini; I do not have a problem!"

"They say denial is the first sign of insanity."

Draco Malfoy rubbed his forehead, feeling a throbbing headache coming on. He bitterly cursed his irritating friend, mourning the loss of his seemingly good day.

It was almost time for dinner, and both thought it best if they headed down to the Great Hall, since they both were starving.

Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini sauntered side-by-side, Draco glaring at anyone who dared smile or even glance in his direction, while Blaise winked and waggled his eyebrows at nearly every girl he passed. Both conveyed the impression that they were wealthy, pure-bred Slytherins, and damn proud of it too. And as they walked together, one could see that their looks completely contradicted one another, for while Draco was pale and possessed silvery blonde hair and icy grey eyes, Blaise had dark skin and thick ebony hair. One was light, the other was dark, but despite their contradicting appearance, both were equally wicked, cunning, and aristocratically handsome.

They both took their places at the Slytherin table, supper appearing on the serving plates as they seated themselves.

Meanwhile, momentarily unbeknownst to Draco Malfoy, a boy by the name of Harry Potter unwittingly seated himself directly in said Slytherin's line of sight. It wasn't until Draco was helping himself to the mashed potatoes (rather watery though they were in Draco's opinion. Really, these house elves were, in all honesty, really letting themselves go lately) that he noticed the Gryffindor Hero Boy, bloody show-off that he was.

Draco's eyes narrowed viciously, glowering at the back of Harry Potter's head. It was obvious to Draco that it was, in fact, the back of Harry Potter's head bobbing idiotically in front him. His black, notoriously tousled hair was unmistakable; Draco could recognize it anywhere. Not that he stared at Potter's head or anything, hell no. It was just that his hair was so black and so messy that you'd have be completely dim-witted to be incapable of comprehending that it was Harry Potter standing in front of you, and not some soiled mop. Though the resemblance was remarkable, Draco had to admit.

Pursing his lips as if he had just swallowed a lemon whole, Draco pushed his mashed potato-filled plate away from him, losing his appetite immediately. There was something about that boy that made him want to hurl. Now what could that be…? Maybe, his do-goodie, Gryffindor hero-complex? Or his complete lack of any brain cells? Or even his I'm-so-hurt-and-alone-because-some-maniac-killed-my-parents-and-now-he's-out-to-get-me act? Try all of the above.

Because, really, Harry Potter was not particularly special, besides the whole Lord-Voldemort-Out-To-Get-Him thing. Anyone with eyes could see that the boy was an attention-starved twit. Why did everyone feel the need to baby him? Draco certainly didn't know. Since everyone else pampered Potter, there had to be someone else to hate him (Dark Lords aside), right? Draco figured it might as well be him.

So, now that we have successfully established Draco's everlasting hatred for Harry, let's get on with the story, shall we?

Draco continued to glare hatefully at Harry Potter's head, furtively wishing it would miraculously explode somehow, when Blaise Zabini looked up from his plate and noticed Draco's staring contest with Potter's hair.

Now normally Blaise would simply pass it off as Draco envisioning his secret fantasy for really cool, black hair (much like his own), for what else could it be? He knew of Draco's jealousy for a long time, and he felt rather sorry for the poor albino. He was such a prissy Drama Queen all the time; Blaise could only assume that it was some sort of perverse cover for Draco's deep-rooted envy for his incredible good looks. Who wasn't exceedingly envious of his good looks, after all? But, nonetheless, Blaise decided to have a bit of fun with Draco's stupor.

Noticing that Draco's hand was placed conveniently next to a large bowl of watery cranberry sauce, Blaise grinned wickedly, already forming a nice little plan in his twisted, yet devilishly good-looking, head.

Draco, meanwhile, was imagining various ways to drown, torture, destroy, and ultimately become the cause of the Great Harry Potter's demise. He did not notice the way Blaise's lips curled into a smile like that of a madman, nor did he perceive the action of Blaise's head moving very close to his ear. And, quite ironically, Draco suffered the consequences of his actions (at least, the ones he envisioned in his mind's eye).

"DRACO MALFOY, YOUR FAMILY HAS GONE BANKRUPT AND YOU'VE LOST ALL YOUR EXPENSIVE HAIR PRODUCTS IN A VERY LARGE FIRE THAT OCCURRED IN YOUR DORM ROOM!!!"

Draco screamed like a sissy girl as his hands flew up in a panic, knocking over the cranberry sauce bowl, the contents of which immediately spilling out into the lap of none other than Marcus Flint.

Understandably startled, Marcus gazed down at his lap, slowly coming to the conclusion that someone had spilt the cranberry sauce on his pants. Growling menacingly as he looked up, he found himself glaring at the frightened and rather guilty-looking face of Draco Malfoy, and the delighted face of Blaise Zabini.

Smiling weakly, Draco gave a little wave of his hands.

Marcus's face grew furious as he identified the person who had soiled his brand new pants, vision blurring until all he saw was the frantic face of Draco Malfoy sitting in across from him. Draco Malfoy who was going to beg for mercy. Draco Malfoy who was going to pay for ruining his new trousers. Draco Malfoy who looked about ready to soil his own pants. Marcus Flint was glad to be the cause of such an event. He never really liked the little ferret anyway.

Marcus grabbed a handful of the mashed potatoes in front of him, hurling it straight at Draco's head. But, since Draco was gifted with abnormally fast reflexes (it wasn't only his father's money that got him the position of Slytherin Seeker, you know), he quickly ducked as the mass of potatoes hurtled over him, colliding into the back of an ill-fated and very vengeful Justin Finch-Fletchley's head.

Feeling the impact of the popular food dish being thrust into his hair, Justin turned around, immediately snatching up a plate of biscuits and throwing them at as many Slytherin heads that he could spot, also hitting a few Gryffindors in the process.

And thus began the legendary Hogwarts Food Fight.

In minutes the food fight spread throughout the Great Hall as fast as gossip in a girl's dorm room. Students were hurling plates of peas and dishes of turkey and gravy at each other everywhere while the Hogwarts Staff, powerless to stop it, yelled themselves hoarse as everybody else ignored them. Although, many of the staff, including Dumbledore himself, happily joined in as the fight became fiercer and fiercer.

Draco Malfoy growled angrily as his pristine robes were splattered with pumpkin juice, all the while ducking and dodging the many food dishes that were tossed his way.

Bloody Gryffindors probably, thought Draco furiously. He turned to Blaise next to him, who was chucking sausages at everyone within a 20-foot range, cackling gleefully. Draco smacked the back of Blaise's head, causing Blaise to drop the pile of sausages he held in his arms.

"Ow!" yelped Blaise, rubbing his head. "What was that for?"

"For being the cause of this, you fop," sneered Draco. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Draco quickly ducked and dived under the Slytherin table, pushing a few first years out of his way as Blaise grumbled grumpily, following Draco's lead. The two Slytherins crawled their way through the Great Hall, Draco desperately searching for an exit and Blaise purposely tripping people as they did so.

But alas, our antiheros could not find the way out, for the air was filled with masses of food being hurled in all directions, and bodies of unconscious students blocking their way. It was as if the Great Hall had become a war zone; students fighting valiantly against other houses, professors trying desperately to stop the downpour of edible ammunition with charms and spells, first years sobbing for their mothers here and there.

Suddenly, as Draco began to realize that his hair would never be the same again, he spotted three familiar pairs shoes under his nose; a pair of polished Mary Janes, a pair of Chudley Cannon sneakers, and a pair of rancid old tennis shoes that could only belong to…

Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy was sure he was going to perish in this hellish reenactment of World War II, and he decided that if he was going to go down, he might as well take Harry Potter with him.

Everything else but Draco's hatred was instantly forgotten, and Draco vehemently tackled Harry's shins, forcing Harry to the ground. Harry cried out, but his misfortune was unbeknownst to his friends, for the Great Hall was already filled with the sound of screams, maniacal laughter, and the occasional battle cry.

Breathing heavily, the dark-haired boy scooped up a handful of food and smeared it all over his attacker's triumphant face. Draco sputtered, putting a hand to his hair. Draco's moment of weakness was all Harry needed and he pinned Draco down, hands holding down Draco's wrists.

Unable to do anything but hopelessly kick the thin air, Draco smirked. "Why Potter, I didn't know you were so keen on shagging me. But if you don't mind, I'd rather go on top."

Disgusted, Harry immediately withdrew, giving Draco the chance to pounce back on top of him, much to Harry's horror.

"Now then, isn't this better?" asked Draco, smirking triumphantly.

"Shove off, Malfoy!" spat Harry, furiously trying to wiggle his way out from under the Slytherin's body.

"You never were the most articulate with words, Potty. But I suppose hanging around mudbloods does have that effect."

Harry's face flushed a deep red, but he recovered quickly and a sneer soon graced his features as he said, "How's your father doing in Azkaban, Malfoy? I expect you won't be getting any new broomsticks for a while?"

"At least my father's alive, you infuriating poof!" jeered Malfoy, jabbing his foot into Harry's knee.

"Not for long, most likely."

And with that Harry kneed Malfoy in the crotch, and the both of them began to roll across the floor of the Great Hall, with Blaise Zabini whooping gleefully after them.

Many a student was knocked over as result of being in the way of the violent, rolling mass that was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, each struggling to beat the other to a pulp, but failing considerably since their strengths were almost equivalent to one another.

However, before one of the pair could achieve that goal, an earsplitting siren-sound filled the room, causing every student (and a few professors) to drop whatever they were about to throw and cover their ears.

Draco and Harry halted their fight, Draco reluctantly releasing Harry, while the Gryffindor ceased his relentless punching of Draco's vital organs. Both too exhausted to do anything but pant, the pair of arch enemies simply sat back against the Ravenclaw table, grimacing at the noise.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, the sound stopped, and the Hogwarts students found themselves tired, covered in supper, and staring dazedly at the staff table where the sound had originated from.

Draco looked up and could see McGonagal wiping off her wand, glowering furiously at the crowd of students. Dumbledore, however, was smiling merrily and looked as pleased as punch to be wearing his dinner.

The senile old coot, thought Draco noncommittally. He was extremely tired, after all.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was about to rant off about what they had done, probably blaming Draco for the whole mess, too. Trying not to appear worried, Draco fixed a bored expression on his face as the headmaster began to speak.

"Students," smiled Dumbledore, raising his outstretched arms. "I do hope that you have all enjoyed that lovely break from tradition, it was quite a nice change! Perhaps we should have another food fight again some time, eh?"

This was met with a loud chorus of cheers, though a few groans were heard from the crowd, one of which emitted through the lips of Draco Malfoy. As was said earlier; his hair would probably never be the same again, and Draco rather resented Blaise for that fact.

McGonagal promptly silenced the students with one of her hard glares, directing another at Dumbledore also.

"But I'm sure that it wouldn't be appropriate," added Dumbledore quickly, eyes twinkling. "For the house elves would not appreciate preparing such a grand feast, only to be thrown about the room. Though it would be a nice change of scenery…"

The Head of Gryffindor House gave a sharp cough, casting Dumbledore a strict frown.

"Ah, no, it wouldn't be a good idea," said the headmaster, stroking his long white beard. "As I was saying…I hope you have enjoyed this pleasurable event, but I'm afraid it cannot happen again. I do wonder how it started though…which one of you was clever enough to find a new way to utilize our supper?"

The students looked about themselves nervously, Draco flushing a faint pink.

"Anyone?"

The crowd stared back at him blankly.

"Anyone at all?"

"Alright!" barked the headmistress, eyes flashing dangerously. "Which of you was the cause of this foolishness? Show yourself immediately, or everyone in this room will be scrubbing this hall with toothbrushes!"

A low murmur of panicked whispers swept through the crowd, frightened students trying to remember how the food fight began. Marcus Flint squinted his eyes, scratching his head confusedly.

Draco could feel his ears burning.

"Reveal yourself!"

"They did it, professor!" came a shout from the crowd.

Horrified, Draco frantically searched for the source of the voice until his eyes locked with the brown eyes of Blaise Zabini. He was pointing at Draco and Harry, a wicked grin forming on his face.

That little bastard! I'll get him for this!

"Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, please come with me," commanded Dumbledore somberly.

"Shit," muttered Draco darkly. He was having such a good day.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: Don't worry; the little excerpt at the beginning will be in the next chapter.**

**Anyway, like it, love it? ...Hate it? Tell me so!**


	2. Of Punishments and Ponies

**Disclaimer: Hello. My name is JK Rowling and I really enjoy writing fanfiction about my own books. Because, that really makes sense. Please.**

**A/N: Just kidding about that disclaimer, people, no need to get excited. I'm no JKR. But if I was, I would _definitely _write fanfiction about my own original works.**

**EDIT: Come on people! 143 hits and only _three_ reviews? You guys are really breaking my heart here.**

oOoOoOo

Harry and Draco reluctantly followed Dumbledore through the twisting hallways, the rhythmic echo of their tapping shoes penetrating the suffocating silence.

Harry glared angrily at the back of Dumbledore's head, wondering how the hell he got himself into trouble again, without even starting it!

The raven-haired boy immediately recognized the snaking passageways they took; he'd been down them several times during his stay at Hogwarts. They were going to Dumbledore's office.

Harry chanced a side glance at the sullen Slytherin walking beside him. Draco's eyes darted around the halls suspiciously, turning his head to and fro as if expecting a surprise attack. He obviously had no idea where they were going. Seeing this, Harry felt a small twinge of satisfaction. It felt good to know something Ferret Boy didn't.

At last they reached the gargoyle statue, appearing as if it had never made the effort to lift a finger in a lifetime.

"Hershey's Kisses," announced Dumbledore cheerily.

Draco eyed the headmaster warily, a rather befuddled expression stamped across his face. Harry forced himself to repress a snicker.

The gargoyle leapt aside suddenly, causing Draco to yelp in fright and dive behind Dumbledore, as if using him as a shield.

This time Harry didn't try to suppress his laughter, on the contrary, he purposely laughed a little more loudly and boisterous than necessary. Just to annoy Malfoy.

Draco emerged from behind the headmaster's robes, face flushed with embarrassment and eyes flashing dangerously.

"It's quite alright, dear boy," chortled Dumbledore, patting the mortified Slytherin on the back good-naturedly.

Draco mumbled incoherently, then, thrusting his nose in the air, impudently sauntered into the stairway without waiting for the other two (salvaging a small amount of his dignity in the process).

Harry was still tittering by the time they were all inside Dumbledore's whistling, clicking, and all around noisy office. A great phoenix was perched expectantly on a golden post to the left of Dumbledore's large desk, as if waiting for them.

Dumbledore gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. Harry sat down immediately, hands folded in his lap. However, Draco took his sweet time, as if demonstrating his indifference through his unhurried saunter. When Draco was finally seated Dumbledore sat down in his own, high-backed chair. He closed his eyes, making a small, bony steeple of his hands, and touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. A few moments later he looked up, as if waking from a dream.

Harry was dying to defend himself, to tell Dumbledore that he had nothing to do with the food fight- because he didn't! Harry was a victim of circumstance! And, predictably, he, Harry Potter was blamed, once again, for something he didn't cause.

Oh, how life could be just so _typical._

Harry watched Dumbledore nervously, waiting for the verdict.

"I've thought this over several times," began Dumbledore suddenly, startling a seemingly unruffled Draco Malfoy.

_Quick thinker,_ admired Harry.

"But, as of yet I have not come to a complete solution."

"But, sir," said Harry quickly. "I had nothing to do with this, it wasn't my fault!"

"It's _never _your fault, is it Potter?" drawled Draco lazily.

"Shut up, Ferret."

"Now, now, boys," said Dumbledore authoritatively. "Though I do believe that one cannot judge someone else until proven guilty, I did notice two young men fighting with each other vehemently during the food fight."

Draco and Harry both opened their mouths in protest.

The Headmaster held up his hand, signaling for silence. "And while this does not prove anything about the groundwork of the food fight, it does suggest that those certain boys have a great deal of repressed anger, which they were expressing in a very unwholesome way. Many a student could have been injured by accident because of this quarrel, for the great mass that consisted of these two young men was rolling about everywhere and colliding with everything in its path. I congratulate you on your systematic warfare method. Very clever indeed." Here Dumbledore paused, giving the impression that he was reflecting on the food fight, blue eyes twinkling. Then, gazing back at Harry and Draco, continued. "Though it was, regrettably, also very dangerous. I'm afraid I must take one hundred points off of both Gryffindor and Slytherin."

One _hundred _points? Harry sighed. _Of course._

"Is that all, professor?" asked Draco hopefully.

"No, Mister Malfoy, it is not."

Harry groaned.

"You may, or may not have been the cause of the food fight, but you both contributed greatly to the danger of what occurred in the Great Hall. If we do indeed discover who began the food fight, and it is proved, then we will most certainly punish them. But in the meantime the two of you must take the brunt of the punishment. The consequences will be reasonable and worthwhile, I assure you."

Draco sneered. "Reasonable and worthwhile? Oh, _please_."

Dumbledore smiled. "It may seem that way now, Mister Malfoy, but you both will learn of the situation's merit soon enough. I shall inform you of your punishments tomorrow morning."

Harry moaned inwardly. Tomorrow was going to be just _peachy._

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy was having a wonderful dream. He dreamt the food fight had never happened, and he had successfully slaughtered Harry Potter and drowned the old coot, all the while bashing Blaise Zabini on the head with a very large sledge hammer. It was the best of dreams. But there was something wrong….someone…or something was jabbing at Draco's nose, and rather sharply too.

"Ouch, that hurts…stop it…" _Who is that? Irritating thing. Who dares disturb Draco Malfoy's slumber?_

Draco opened his eyes, vision slightly blurry. He could feel dream's release on his subconscious, and he found himself very groggy, but awake (much to his immense displeasure). He focused on the big brown object under his nose. _What the hell is that?_

Two large orange orbs for eyes, brown feathers, sharp…was that a beak?

_OWL!_

Draco sat up immediately, causing the owl to fall onto his lap. Draco brushed the thing off, making a mental note to wash his face very thoroughly today.

The owl fluttered away to perch on the edge of Draco's bed post, hooting reproachfully. Draco sneered back at it. The owl ruffled its feathers crossly, thrusting out its leg as if to say, _let's get this over with_.

Noticing the letter tied to the owl's leg, Draco quickly untied it and snatched it from the owl's clutches, using his super seeker reflexes to pull his hand back before the owl had a chance to peck it.

"Ha!" cried Draco triumphantly, smirking at the glaring owl. He waved the letter about a few times, causing the owl to narrow his eyes at Draco evilly. The owl launched into the air, suddenly diving at a shrieking Draco and flying out of the conveniently open window.

Draco slowly curled out from his defensive position, making sure to close his window securely before sitting back onto his bed and ripping open the envelope.

It read:

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

_I regret to inform you that I have come up with a rather ingenious punishment for you and Mister Potter. Starting this evening, every other day at six o'clock you will go to Room 108 on the 5th floor. There, you will attend private anger management classes instructed by Dr. Gerald Wynter, a close friend of mine and a fantastic therapist. You will obey his every decision and follow his tactics and strategies, however strange they might seem to you. I'm sure after these anger management courses both you and Mister Potter will learn how to deal with your anger and express it in a healthy way._

_Good luck,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Draco's eyes widened disbelievingly. Heart beating faster. Anger building. He could feel his breathing grow shallower by the second. Eyebrow twitching. Draco Malfoy was going to blow.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

**A/N: Ah, yes, here we are. Draco's rather loud question has now woken up everyone within 500-mile radius. Anyway, back to the story.**

Draco panted; exhausted from the enormous effort it took to wake all of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, Blaise Zabini had just awoken, mildly startled by Draco's announcement. Blaise had, after all, been expecting such an awakening. Draco Malfoy was never one to simmer silently, oh no. When Draco Malfoy was mad, _everyone_ knew it. But not only would everyone know it, but everyone would suffer for it too, for Draco always made sure that his problems were also everyone else's, by means of a rather grouchy demeanor, violent behavior, and never-ending complaints delivered at the loudest decibel possible.

Yes, our antihero had anger issues, no matter how much he denied it. The longer Draco remained woefully unaware of his problems, everybody else continued to grow tremendously conscious of them.

So as Draco Malfoy began to lapse into a furious temper tantrum, Blaise watched with interest. He had only seen Draco this mad twice before; when Draco was turned into a ferret and when he was denied a pony. Of course, the pony thing was when Draco was nine, but Blaise took care never to mention it to him.

Nevertheless, Blaise always found it rather entertaining when Draco went into a fit of rage. Which was quite often, if anyone would believe _that_.

Right now Draco's face was turning a deep crimson color, as if his head was about to explode. His breathing would get faster and faster, until he'd wind up snorting like an enraged bull. At times Blaise could easily imagine that steam was billowing out Draco's ears. And if Blaise was really lucky, Draco's eyes would roll back into his head, and he would bellow his curses to the heavens and very often injure anyone in the premises. But that was only on special occasions.

As it was, Blaise regretfully decided that it would probably be best to calm Draco before he got to that point, since Blaise didn't much fancy the idea of visiting the Hospital Wing today.

Draco, meanwhile, was having quite a hard time trying to come to terms with his current situation. Meaning, he was preparing to throw a major hissy-fit, give or take a few curses and hexes here and there.

Draco furiously hurled his pillow across the room, hitting his Slytherin comrade, Vincent Crabbe, right at the back of his head, just as he was about to make his escape. _I do not have an anger problem! _Draco's blankets and sheets were flung to the ground as he stood up. _I don't see why the old coot has to make a big fuss about nothing! Potter started it anyway! _Draco stomped over to his dresser, and, heatedly yanking out his clothes and chucking them around the room, found something suitable to wear. _Stupid Potter_. He jammed his legs into his pants and shoved his shirt over his head, still brooding angrily. _Bloody old coot. Who the hell does he think he is, making up rules and punishments as he pleases! _Draco finished dressing and snatched his comb from the top of his dresser, dragging his comb through his hair. _I don't need anger management! _Throwing down his comb, Draco grabbed his hair products, coating his head with them and feverishly pushing his silver mane back with his long fingers. _I don't need a therapist, I'm not angry!_

Blaise sauntered over to Draco, watching him as he impatiently shoved his feet into his shoes. "Whatcha doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, you twit!" snapped Draco, fingers fumbling as he tried to tie his shoe laces.

"It looks like you're about to have a go at your trainers."

"Oh haha, you're hysterical."

"Do you ever check that sarcasm at the door?"

"No. Leave me alone."

Blaise frowned. He was, admittedly, very good at getting Draco mad, but not very often was he forced to cheer Draco up. Such extremes were nearly impossible! What on Earth could get a gloomy Malfoy back in good spirits?

Torturing little children and then eating them, that's what.

Well, unless Draco wanted to get arrested and shipped off to the Psychotic Ward for Chronic Cannibals, then the situation called for less extreme measures.

Blaise grinned suddenly; he had an idea.

"Malfoy," said Blaise casually, examining his fingernails. "Do you know what would satisfy your need for blood, an evil, conniving devil such as yourself?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Zabini."

"Are we feeling up to a little trip to the Kitchens, Drakie-poo?"

Draco looked up, eyebrows knitted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"What I mean," said Blaise, looking up from his perfectly manicured cubicles, "is that you owe a favor to a certain _someone,_ say, a _friend_ of ours."

Draco stared back at Blaise blankly.

"Have you ever tried out the house elve's new, _Breakfast in Bed_ Service?"

oOoOoOo

**A/N: CLIFFHANGER OMG.**

**Tell me what you think!**


	3. Lions, Tigers, and Laxatives, Oh My!

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, wish I did, but don't. Therefore, my life sucks.**

**A/N: Eh, this chappie's a bit short, but oh well.**

oOoOoOo

Harry rolled over in his bed, trying to fall back asleep, and failing miserably. He had been woken up at about 5am when someone had decided that shrieking loudly to the sky was exactly the thing to do early in the wee hours of morning. Considerably alarmed, Harry leapt from his bed and snatched his wand, ready and poised. He had been expecting an attack from Voldemort and his goons, for what other good reason for yelling could there be at five in the morning?

When no one came bursting through Harry's door, and Harry's dorm-mates sleepily assured him that all was well, Harry reluctantly crawled back into bed, willing for sleep to take him for a few more hours.

No such luck.

Harry, grumpy and awake, pulled his pillow out from under his head and pressed it against his face, hoping that he might suffocate and faint. Maybe even die. Because, really, what point was there in living if one could not sleep-in as much as possible?

None.

Harry cursed under his breath (though it really didn't have to be under his breath, since the pillow was muffling his words anyway), dreaming of how nice it would be just to be able to get a reasonable amount of sleep for once. Oh, the wonders of being fully alert and awake, Harry hadn't known that feeling for a very long time now.

Cruel, cruel world.

But as Harry was considering actually getting up and doing something useful, he heard a sudden rap on the window, shortly followed by another. In fact, the rapping was getting more and more urgent by the second.

Harry looked up groggily, seeing what appeared to be a two-headed blob floating outside his window. _No…that can't be right…OH. _Harry snatched his glasses off of his bed stand and pushed them on.

Outside his window, rapping incessantly, were two owls carrying what looked like a giant tray sheltered by a metal dome-shaped cover. Harry leaped from his bed and rushed to the window, glancing at his roommates before opening the window. Thankfully, they were all heavy sleepers and continued to snore, unaware of their surroundings.

Harry opened the window and stepped aside. The mass of owl and metal zoomed in and plopped down on Harry's pillow, the two owls looking quite relieved to be free of their heavy burden.

The raven-haired boy approached the metal object cautiously, prepared for any sudden attack. Yes, Harry is a paranoid child. But can you really blame him?

Ahem. As I was saying, Harry was approaching the object in question, prepared for any assault that may occur.

Carefully, Harry lifted the metal cover, revealing what appeared to be a large bowl of porridge, complete with a plate of eggs and bacon. The smell of the meal reached Harry's nose, and he sighed with relief. Then, glancing around for any competitors that he may have to battle in order to keep his food, he dug in, practically shoveling the breakfast into his waiting mouth.

**A/N: _hits pause button._ Yes, despite Harry's naturally paranoid nature, he willingly ate the suspicious meal, without knowing who it was from and why it was given to him. Harry simply figured that it was some kindly admirer of his, offering him thanks for being such a great hero of the Wizarding World.**

**But really, it was food, and he was a red-blooded male. Need I say more?**

**Back to the story…**

By the time Harry took one bite he was reduced to animalistic instincts. The meal was _delicious,_ how on Earth was it made? Was there some added ingredient that made it taste so wonderful? Harry did not know. Harry did not care. Harry was hungry. Harry only continued to eat the appetizing food, without caring about anything, thinking of anyone, only dwelling on the mouth-watering taste of the meal.

Harry was also making quite a bit of noise.

Ron Weasley, one of Harry's closest friends, awoke, startled. There was a noise behind Harry's curtain that sounded much like a wild animal devouring his prey. Suddenly very afraid for Harry's life, Ron leaped from his bed and cautiously circled his best friend's curtain. Maybe a tiger had escaped from a nearby zoo and was accidentally let in, being mistaken for a cuddly feline? Maybe it was a hungry bear that somehow found his way inside? Maybe Harry caught a nasty, flesh-eating parasite? Ron did not know. Ron only worried for his friend's well-being. But he also feared for his own life as well…which was why Ron quickly leapt back under his covers in fright, after contemplating what may be eating Harry.

In the meantime, Harry's roommate and friend Neville Longbottom awoke from a peaceful sleep, for the very same reasons Ron was awaken. Neville located the noise and realized it was somewhere in Harry's bed. He also noticed a trembling and whimpering mass of something hiding under Ron's covers. Neville was, by nature, frightened by anything unusual, really, but he was also very a companionate being, and immediately became worried for Harry, which overruled his fear. So, courageously approaching said friend, or, Neville assumed, what was left of him, Neville pulled back the curtains, revealing a rather occupied Harry Potter and his breakfast.

Harry Potter glanced up from his meal, sensing that someone was near. Neville Longbottom stood above him, staring dubiously. At once, Harry suspected that Neville was after his food. He cuddled his bowl to his chest, emitting low growls, warning Neville to back off. Neville only continued to ogle Harry, one eyebrow raised high above the other.

Meanwhile, Ron Weasley continued to cower under his bed sheets like a little girl.

"Harry…?" started Neville, mouth hanging open. "Where did you get that?"

Harry swallowed the mouthful of bacon that he had just shoved into his face, mumbling, "I got it from the owls who delivered it to me."

Neville stared.

"And no, you can't have any. It's _mine_."

"Don't you think this is a little bit suspicious?" asked Neville, leaning over the meal.

Harry gathered the bowl and plate to him, finishing off the meal greedily. "No."

Neville shook his head, incredulous. "There was no note or anything?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_, Neville," sighed Harry, "I'm positive."

"Then what's that?"

"Huh?"

Neville pointed to Harry's bowl.

Harry peeked over his now empty bowl of porridge.

At the very bottom, inscribed into the bowl, read;

_Hahaha,_

_Hope you like the color of bathroom tiles, Potty._

_Malfoy._

Sudden dread gripped Harry's insides, writhing inside his stomach and twisting and thrashing down to his …wait, was that really dread?

Harry dropped the bowl, face pale.

"Harry!" shouted Neville, grabbing Harry's shoulders. "What's wrong, Harry? _Harry!_"

Harry gulped. "Neville, if you'll excuse me…I need to…go…" Harry leaped from his bed, upsetting the empty plate that was previously on his lap and ran as fast as his could toward the nearest bathroom.

oOoOoOo

"So Malfoy put a laxative in that food?" asked Hermione, arms crossed. "And you _ate it?_"

"I didn't know he put a laxative in it!" moaned Harry, clutching his stomach.

"But still! It could have poisoned with something much worse!"

"Aww, Hermione, give him a break for once," said Ron, sitting on Harry's bed.

Hermione scowled. "No, Ron, I will not _give him a break!_ Harry could have _died!_ Harry _ate food_ that was delivered to him with no _note_, and no _reason_, it could have been from _anyone!_"

Harry groaned, stomach in turmoil.

"We should take him to Madame Pomfrey," suggested Hermione, voice lowered.

"And give Malfoy the satisfaction of sending Harry to the Hospital Wing? Never!"

"Ron, Harry's in _pain!_ He needs medication!"

"Aww, Harry'll suck it up, won't you Harry?" Ron gave Harry a hearty slap on the back. Harry whimpered.

Ron, taking Harry's verbal verification of his anguish for an affirmative, continued. "What we really need is to get back at Malfoy. That'll show him."

Hermione frowned. "I don't doubt that it was a terrible thing for Malfoy to do, but taking revenge on Malfoy won't stop him from hoaxing Harry again, in fact, it will _encourage_ him to do just that."

Ron waved this off, ignoring Hermione's words of caution. "Nonsense. We'll get Malfoy back for what he did to Harry, right Harry?"

Harry groaned.

"That's right. It's _go_ time."

Harry cringed at Ron's inconsiderate choice of words.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: Poor Harry. Will he ever get to reap his terrible revenge on Draco? Most likely.**

**Anyway, next chapter will include a rather emotionally distraught Draco and an unwanted Anger Management session. And we will meet the doctor!**

**So review if you would like to support me in my time of writer's block! Critique is always welcome. God knows, I need it.**


	4. Meeting Mister Wynter

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. Blah, blah, blah. Oh, and I also got some anger management tips from a website called **_**Controlling Anger Before Anger Controls You**_

**A/N: I'm very sorry for taking so long, but I've been having computer troubles, so technically, it's not my fault! And for those of you who are awaiting an update from **_**Divine Torment**_**, you might have to wait a little longer. So sorry! My computer is really mean to me.**

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy was having an exceptionally lovely afternoon. Exceptionally lovely, that is, except for the fact that he was to attend an anger management class taught by some idiot doctor in room 108 on the 5th floor. Today. At six o'clock sharp. _Six o'clock_. Which was why Draco forced himself to enjoy the rest of his day before he received the consequences of his so-called _actions. _What_ actions? _Draco hadn't done anything wrong! In fact, he'd never done anything wrong his entire life! …Or was it the other way around?

Okay, so maybe it was. But Draco felt completely sure that he had done nothing bad _this_ time. He was fully prepared to blame it all on Potter. And besides, he did _not _have an anger problem.

And Draco, very determined to prove exactly this to the old coot and his doctor friend, found himself stomping his way towards room 108 on the 5th floor, teeth gnashing.

After all, there was no need for him to attend, right? No anger, remember?

Before entering said room Draco checked his watch. _6:05_. Good. He was late. He preferred to make others wait on him.

Taking a deep breath, Draco opened the door and sauntered in. He wanted to make statement after all. He was in no hurry.

At once Draco was met with the sight of a kindly-looking bald man, somewhere in his forties, slightly overweight. He wore a gray tweed suit, very proper. He sat in a cushioned chair in the very center of the room, with another empty chair facing him. The rest of the room contained nothing else, only uninteresting posters hung on the walls. Smallish blue eyes peeked out of large, square, thick-rimmed glasses. Smallish blue eyes that were directed right at Draco.

The man gestured to the chair across from him, grinning. _Merlin, the guy is all smiles. _This seemed, somehow, very ominous to Draco.

Draco sat down, sneering studiously. "What, no couch?"

The doctor only smiled wider, holding out his hand. Draco ignored it. The hand withdrew. "Hello, Draco, my name is Dr. Gerald Wynter, and I'm here to help you."

Draco smirked. "Your introductions are rather futile, I'm afraid, since I already know exactly who you are."

Dr. Gerald Wynter didn't seem the least bit surprised. "Oh? And who do you think I am?"

"You're some shrink whom that crackpot old fool of a headmaster has set me up with, hoping to rub off some of that do-goodie Gryffindor _gallantry _and _chivalry_ that we all seem to _adore _here at Hogwarts."

"Very insightful," nodded the doctor. "But, unfortunately, incorrect. You see, I'm here to help you release some of your anger in a healthy, productive way. And not only that, but I also hope to untangle some of those anger issues already causing you turmoil in your waking mind."

Draco blinked. Slowly.

The doctor smiled again. "You may call me Dr. Wynter, or you may call me by my first name; Gerald, if you wish. You may also call me Gerry, Ger, Aldie, Dr. G, or any other variation of my name you can think of."

Draco pursed his lips. A nasty taste had developed in the very back of his throat. Vomit on the blithering idiot shrink? Hmm. Good idea.

"Or you could simply refer to me as Doc."

Better idea.

Draco sneered. "Alright, _Doc_."

"There," Doc beamed. "Now we have ignited the very first spark of introduction, familiarity, even. Hopefully this familiarity will help you become more comfortable confiding in me."

Draco smirked. Yeah. Like _that _was going to happen.

"I already explained to you why _I'm_ here, Draco, but do you know why _you're_ here?"

Draco tapped his finger against his chin in mock concentration. "Let's see…I'm here so that you have the ability to keep me in check, force me to improve my attitude, and basically render me dazed and helpless with all your fancy educated rubbish, until I have no choice but to behave like a good little boy for your headmaster friend."

Draco gave Doc a satisfied smirk.

Doc raised his eyebrows and scribbled something down on his lap-bound clipboard. Seeing this, Draco frowned. He had never had anyone take notes on him before, nor had he expected such a thing from a doctor. No, Draco's superior immunity system due to his pure, untouched blood (aka inbreeding) forever kept him from attending any sort of doctor appointment up until now. For as any normal human being would know; doctors _always_ take notes on you, which most people seem to find rather unnerving at times.

_Hmm. Not a bad idea,_ thought Draco. Who _wouldn't _want to take notes on Draco's aristocratic good looks, charming disposition, dashing personality, and witticism? He really couldn't believe nobody thought of it beforehand. In fact, Draco would have taken notes on _himself,_ if common sense and propriety would allow.

Doc looked up. And smiled. Draco nearly gagged. Enough of all this grinning already! Draco wanted the _embodiment_ of pain and anguish etched into the very skin cells of the man's face! Let Draco cause _agony!_ Let Draco cause _misery!_

Ahhh. The man was grinning like the Cheshire Cat himself **(I'll just ignore the fact that Draco probably has never seen or read **_**Alice in Wonderland**_** in his entire life…).**

…

**(Okay, maybe he has, who knows?)**

Doc glanced up at Draco from his clipboard. "Draco, I get the feeling that you don't want to be here."

_Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Someone give the man a prize._

Draco simply glared.

"You're here," started Doc, "not because we want to correct your behavior, although behavior is a big part of it, you're here because you have an anger problem, whether you care to admit it or not. You're here because you need to learn how to control _anger_, before anger controls _you_."

Draco couldn't believe this, why did everyone think he had an anger problem? _He had no anger problem, dammit!_

Doc continued. "The first thing you need to know is what anger is, the nature of it. Do you know what anger is, Draco?"

_Yes, and I also know my ABC's. Imbecile._

"Anger is," said Doc gently, "an emotional state that differs in intensity from mild irritation to intense fury. Anger can be caused by both external and internal events. You could be angry at a specific person or incident, or your anger could be caused by worrying or brooding about your personal problems. Memories of traumatic or enraging events can also trigger angry feelings."

Draco scowled. _This is getting ridiculous…_

"There are many people who are angrier than others. These people have a low tolerance for frustration, or they feel that the situation they are experiencing is somehow unjust."

The doctor paused, apparently waiting for Draco to respond. When Draco ignored the opportunity to speak, Doc continued.

"There is evidence that some children are born irritable, touchy, and easily angered, and that these signs are present from a very early age. Another may be cultural. Anger is often regarded as negative; we're taught that it's all right to express anxiety, depression, or other emotions but not to express anger. As a result, we don't learn how to handle it or channel it constructively.

Research has also found that family background plays a role. Typically, people who are easily angered come from families that are disruptive, chaotic, and not skilled at emotional communications."

Draco vaguely wondered whether the man consulted a dictionary before speaking to him. It really wasn't natural for a person to use all those large words in one sitting.

"So, Draco, I would like to understand what first triggered your issues. Tell me about your father..."

oOoOoOo

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_I am sorry to say that I have procured a rather beneficial punishment for you and Mister Malfoy. Starting this evening, every other day at six o'clock you will go to Room 108 on the 5__th__ floor. There, you will attend private anger management classes instructed by Dr. Gerald Wynter, a close friend of mine and a fantastic therapist. You will obey his every decision and follow his tactics and strategies, however strange they might seem to you. I'm sure after these anger management courses both you and Mister Malfoy will learn how to deal with your anger and express it in a healthy way._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry stared at the piece of parchment he held in his hand. He couldn't believe this! Dumbledore was actually making _him_ pay for what was obviously _Malfoy's_ fault! _Him! _ Harry Potter! _The-Boy-Who-Seldom-Ever-Gets-In-Trouble!_

**Ha. Yeah, right.**

Harry gave a furtive glance around the Great Hall. Most of Hogwarts' occupants appeared as if they were enjoying their breakfast, some were simply chatting, and others stared into their cereal bowls expectantly, as if waiting for the future to depict itself amidst the soggy dregs of cornflakes. Harry glanced at the occupied redhead next to him, busy stuffing his face with sausage. Hermione sat across from him, her nose buried in _The Theological Musings of Stubby Boardman_. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, sat on the plate of bacon in front of him, waiting to be rewarded for the letter she had just delivered to him. Harry stroked her absentmindedly, studying the Great Hall. What was so great about it anyway? It was only a dining hall, really.

Harry sighed, simmering resentment setting in permanently, along with dreary acceptance. And dread. What was he in for anyway? Harry had never been to a shrink before. What would the doctor do to him? Talk to him about his childhood? _That _was going to be fun. Harry was going to _kill_ Malfoy for this…

Harry felt a horribly familiar tug in his lower intestines.

He was going to kill Malfoy for that, too.

In fact, Malfoy simply remaining alive and healthy in Harry's life was enough reason to kill Malfoy.

Harry stood up, fists clenched tight.

Hermione sighed. Ron glanced up at Harry, mouth stuffed with scrambled eggs, cheeks bulging like a hamster. "Again, Harry? Shouldn't it have worn off by now?"

Harry scowled.

"Well, what did you expect, Ron?" asked Hermione huffily from behind her book. "It was obviously an _enchanted _laxative that Harry devoured. Malfoy is a wizard, after all…albeit, a very immature one."

"I _told _you, I didn't mean to!" snarled Harry.

"_You didn't mean to?_ Honestly, Harry, you gobbled that stuff up like it was your last meal."

Harry was about to retort, when his stomach complained loudly, interrupting the argument.

Harry grimaced. "I've got to go…"

He hurried out of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione staring bemusedly after him.

Traversing the hallways on a full…gut…proved to be more difficult than Harry had anticipated. Why on Earth were the restrooms so far away from the Great Hall? The Great Hall _was _a place to _eat,_ after all.

The halls loomed endlessly in front of Harry as he continued on, clutching his stomach, searching fretfully for the nearest bathroom. Where was it anyway? Was it down this hall? Up these stairs?

Finally, though Harry was in too much pain to pay any attention to where his feet were taking him, he found himself standing in front of a rather ugly tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance. Aha! Harry nearly wet himself with glee. The Room of Requirement!

Harry turned around, and glancing at the plain wall where the doorway to the Room of Requirement was to appear, Harry paced down the hall, thinking repeatedly,_ I need someplace where I can use the bathroom…_

Harry stopped. And turned. Sure enough, the large door leading to the Room of Requirement was there, on that plain wall.

Harry grasped the doorknob and quickly walked in, a cozy little bathroom meeting his eyes. But Harry didn't notice anything about the lovely décor. He only had eyes for the toilet.

After Harry was all done, and relieved of all that extra luggage, he exited the premises and strutted happily down the hall, a long piece of toilet paper trailing after him, stuck to his left shoe.

Harry had no idea where he was going; all he was aware of was that he felt _good_. His bowels were, mercifully, empty, and his face sported a rather goofy grin, baffling several third year Hufflepuffs who passed by **(No, Harry Potter doesn't grin very often. He was orphaned when he was only an infant, and left in the care of a family of gorillas, remember?). ** So when a hand shot out of a nearby classroom doorway and grabbed Harry by the front of his sweater, it came to be a rather nasty surprise to Harry. He was having such a nice day so far. The hand pulled Harry into the classroom and let go, Harry steadying himself on a desk so that his feet didn't give way. He heard the door slam and looked up to see the grinning face of Ron, and a disgruntled Hermione.

Harry gave a start. He had expected Death Eaters, or some other variation of evil out to get him. "…What's going on…?"

"I have an idea!" cried Ron happily.

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked to Hermione for an explanation.

"It's one of his first, you can't really blame him for being excited," said Hermione.

Harry sighed. "What's this about then, Ron?"

"I know how we can get back at Malfoy!" declared Ron triumphantly. "I've got it all planned out. It's completely foolproof."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Ron, I don't know if anyone will believe it…"

"What do you mean?" Ron frowned. "Of course they'll believe it; he acts like such a pansy already."

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, and back to Ron. "I still don't know where you're going with this…"

"Okay," said Ron, lowering his voice, "Here's what we do…"

oOoOoOo

**A/N: Hooray! Another chapter finished!**

**Next Chapter: Harry meets the doctor, and also gets to reap his terrible revenge on Draco, which creates a rather unwanted rumor about the both of them.**

**Review and make me happy:)**


	5. In Which Draco Is Scarred for Life

**Disclaimer: Do I even have to say it?**

**A/N: Yeah, well, I like the last part. The first part's a bit iffy. Oh well. Enjoy!**

oOoOoOo

Harry nearly jogged down the hallway leading to room 108. It was almost six o'clock, and he didn't want to be late. Harry was bound and determined to make a good impression on this doctor, therefore proving that he needed no anger management. Sure, Harry got angry sometimes, but it was human, and besides, he had a _right_ to be angry! Some power-happy wacko murdered his parents and ruined his life for Merlin's sake!

He was going to get this appointment over with, and then he, Ron, and Hermione would put Operation _Ferret Season_ into play.

Harry reached the door to room 108 and, panting, put his hands on his knees in order to support himself. Then, straightening up, Harry glanced at his watch. _6:00_. Excellent.

Harry turned the knob and entered the room. The place was completely empty, save for a few colorful posters and two chairs sitting directly in the center of the room, one of which was occupied by a cheery-looking, middle-aged man. The man looked up and stood, offering his hand. Harry took it, and gave a tight smile.

The man sat down, indicating that Harry do so also. Bright blue eyes peered at Harry through thick-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Harry, my name is Dr. Gerald Wynter. I'm to be your anger management therapist."

"I know," said Harry politely. "I'm Harry Potter. Your patient."

The doctor smiled. "I know."

Harry smiled again, weakly.

"You may call me Dr. Wynter," said the doctor, "or you may call me by my first name; Gerald, if you wish. You may also call me Gerry, Ger, Aldie, Dr. G, or any other variation of my name you can think of."

_Dr. G? _Harry quickly stifled a laugh.

"Or you can simply refer to me as Doc."

That worked.

"Okay, Doc," replied Harry. "I have something to say before we begin. I don't think I belong here."

"Oh, really? But it is a fantastic school I think you'll find-"

"No," interrupted Harry, "I meant _here_, in this room. I don't think I need anger management."

_"Ahh."_ Doc nodded, seeming to understand. "Well, Harry, I don't mean to contradict you, but your worthy headmaster seems to think that you do need anger management, and your demonstration with Mister Malfoy the other day proves to me that you may need a wee bit of help."

Harry frowned. "I didn't start the food fight. That was Malfoy."

"Ahh, but it isn't a matter of who _started _it, but who _ended_ it."

Harry blinked. _What? …Technically, hadn't Dumbledore ended it?_

"I had the pleasure of meeting Mister Malfoy just yesterday."

Harry almost laughed. _The pleasure of meeting Malfoy?_ Harry begged to differ.

"I can tell that the two of you have quite a history."

"More like rivalry," scoffed Harry.

"I see," said the doctor, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me about this rivalry of yours."

"Well," began Harry slowly, "He's an arrogant bastard whose goal in life is to make mine as miserable as possible."

"I see. When did this 'rivalry' begin?"

"The first day of coming here, at Hogwarts. He insulted Ron, said that I was making friends with the wrong sort. He offered his hand to me, wanted me to become one of his cronies. Obviously, I refused."

"Why did you refuse?"

"Well…I had met him before…" Harry furrowed his brows, trying to remember. "…At Madam Malkin's…got my first robe fitted right next to Malfoy…said muggleborns shouldn't be let into Hogwarts. …I remember I didn't like him at all," finished Harry awkwardly.

"Mmmm," mumbled Doc, scribbling something down on a clipboard. Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Can you tell me why you didn't like him, Harry?"

Harry stared at his feet. "Well, aside from the muggleborn stuff, he seemed pretty egotistical and self-absorbed. And ever since that first day at Hogwarts, he's proved to be just that. We've hated each other from that time on."

"Hmm," said the doctor, looking up. "How do you think your refusal of befriending Mister Malfoy affected him? Do you think he would have acted any different towards you if you did accept his friendship?"

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think about this. "How should I know, it didn't happen, did it?"

"No, it didn't," agreed Doc. "And I suppose we should move on to a different subject, as I can see you're uncomfortable with the current one. Do you think you're an angry person, Harry?"

"No," said Harry at once.

"I see. What does make you angry, Harry?"

_That I'm in here, stuck with you_. "Uhm…well, I assume you know that Voldemort killed my parents, and I have no family. Well, no real family, I guess. I was forced to live with my mum's sister's family until I was eleven. They were horrible to me."

Doc nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yeah…there's Malfoy, I guess, and…um, sometimes my friends or teachers tick me off, and, well, in forth year Voldemort came back, and no one believed me, and the ministry made a joke out of me in the papers…"

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Well, mad," said Harry pointedly.

The doctor nodded. Again. "Harry, anger can be caused by both external and internal events. You could be angry at a specific person or event, or your anger could be caused by worrying or brooding about your personal problems. Memories of traumatic or enraging events can also trigger angry feelings."

Harry raised an eyebrow. The doctor's speech sounded suspiciously rehearsed.

"There are many people who are angrier than others. These people have a low tolerance for frustration, or they feel that the situation they are experiencing is somehow unjust."

Like the one he was experiencing now?

"There is evidence that some children are born irritable, touchy, and easily angered, and that these signs are present from a very early age. Another may be cultural. Anger is often regarded as negative; we're taught that it's all right to express anxiety, depression, or other emotions but not to express anger. As a result, we don't learn how to handle it or channel it constructively.

Research has also found that family background plays a role. Typically, people who are easily angered come from families that are disruptive, chaotic, and not skilled at emotional communications."

"Only I don't have a real family," pointed out Harry irritably. "I grew up with some unloving muggle family who've malnourished me for ten years straight, not including a couple summers here and there, so I'd think it'd be reasonable to say that they don't really count as my family."

"Does that make you angry, Harry?"

Annoyance growing at warp speed, Harry groaned. _Yes,_ it did make him angry! Hadn't they already established that?

Removing his glasses, the doctor paused. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and applied it to his glasses, rubbing them gently. "Harry, you and Mister Malfoy both have anger problems. And both of you continue to deny them ardently. This is natural, and it is natural to feel angry sometimes. It's _okay_ to feel angry. And it seems that you and Mister Malfoy do not understand that. While there are some similarities among your problems and his, and admittedly some connections as well, there remains a large difference between your anger and his. Mister Malfoy has a lot of anger, but most of it isn't pent up. In fact, he tends to express his anger continually, lashing out at his friends, classmates, and superiors. And while this is expressive, it isn't healthy or constructive. Mister Malfoy has learned to deal with his life the wrong way, and as a result every little irritation becomes a huge problem. You, Harry, on the other hand, have a lot of anger, and for good reason too, but it is pent up and confined within yourself. And while Mister Malfoy expresses his anger in a damaging way, you keep your anger to yourself, unwilling to express."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly.

Doc pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward earnestly, keeping eye contact with Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Together, Harry, you and I can untangle your past," continued the doctor, eyes gleaming with something akin to mania. "We will unlock those doors, those fortresses of steel, repressing your anger. We will _release_ your _emotions!_"

Harry gulped. He didn't like the sound of that.

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy moaned happily in his sleep. His bed-sheets were warmer and cozier than usual, as if there was extra body heat in the bed to warm them. He dreamed of happy things; he dreamed of children crying in pain, flowers being crushed, mallets being thrown at Potter's stupid head, giggling and snickering…wait, giggling? Snickering? Draco frowned. Unless it was Draco doing the giggling, which was abnormal, seeing as Malfoys did not _giggle_, then there was something amiss. His dreams should be filled with _pain _and _suffering_, not giggles.

However, Draco in his deep sleep disregarded the giggles, and focused on the image of Potter being attacked by raving kittens instead.

Draco snuggled deeper into his covers. Ah yes, life was good in the subconscious mind of Draco Malfoy. Except…why was he cold all of the sudden? He shivered, feeling around for his blanket. Aha, there it was…only…what was that lump under the blanket?

Draco opened his eyes, which hardly did any good, seeing as the room was pitch-black. Fishing out his wand from his pajama pocket, he muttered a quick _"Lumos,"_ and fumbled his way across the room, and turned on the lights.

Draco blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the current brightness. Glancing around, he rubbed his eyes, wondering vaguely if he needed his vision checked. When had the room become so _yellow?_

It was true; the dorm was decked out in yellow and black, a hideous combination, in Draco's opinion. Was he in the right room?

Draco sat down on his bed, utterly confused. He remembered walking into his dorm, laughing along with Zabini about their successful prank on Potter. He knew he got ready for bed and nearly fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. So where _was_ he and _how_ did he get here?

_This is a dream,_ decided Draco. _A rather strange dream, but a dream nonetheless._

Though, Draco couldn't help wondering if it was a dream, or a nightmare. There were no children choking on drumsticks, or puppies being fed to hungry pythons. There was no Harry Potter about to encounter a blunted guillotine. So how could it be a dream? On the other hand, it hardly seemed a nightmare…

Draco shook his head, deciding that maybe Blaise slipped him something. Yeah, that was probably it. That dammed excuse of a wizard slipped him something that made him mix up his colors…

Draco slithered into bed once more, resolved to give Blaise a piece of his mind in the morning. If that fop couldn't think of a better prank than this, then what the hell was he good for anyway?

He pushed his sliver hair out of his face as he snuggled back under his covers, drifting off to Dreamland. But as Draco was just about asleep, he suddenly felt cold again.

Draco felt around for the blanket, only to find that there was a rather large lump of heat in his bed, using it right at the moment. He was momentarily shocked. Why was there someone in his bed? What the hell _did _Blaise give him last night?

Draco tore out of bed and turned on the lights. There, in his bed, laid none other than Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire.

Oh, yes, this was definitely a nightmare.

Draco screamed. Ernie was startled awake and took one look at Draco in his bedraggled green silk pajamas and screamed as well. The rest of Ernie's roommates, roused awake by Draco and Ernie's lovely duet, screamed simply because they could find nothing else to do.

"What are you doing in my bed, idiot?" shouted Draco, face rapidly becoming a deep shade of scarlet.

"My bed?" repeatedly Ernie angrily. "You're in my room, Malfoy! What are you doing in _my_ bed?"

"In…your…room?" Draco paused, glancing around at the yellow and black décor. For the love of Merlin's Great Aunt Hessie, he was in one of the Hufflepuff dorms.

A boy Draco recognized as Zachariah Smith stood and cautiously approached Ernie's bed, inspecting the slight dent in the sheets next to a shaken Ernie. "So, Malfoy, you've been sleeping with Ernie, have you? Ernie, you didn't let him in, did you?"

Ernie gazed at him, mouth open. "Of course not! I wouldn't bother letting in trash like Malfoy! In fact, I've never let anyone in besides a fellow Hufflepuff; I didn't even know someone from another house _could_ come in here!"

Another one of Ernie's roommates, Justin somethingoranother, stared at Malfoy in horror. "You slept with Ernie without him even knowing it!"

Draco scoffed at the accusation. "Why, I wouldn't dream of sleeping with a _Hufflepuff_, especially a _male Hufflepuff_! What do you think I am, gay or something?"

A mere second after Draco said this, he realized the answer. Five Hufflepuffs, one of which was staring at Draco in something like revulsion, glared at him accusingly.

_Good Lord,_ thought Draco, disgusted, _they think I'm a bloody pansy! They think I raped their friend or something!_

"How did you get in here, Malfoy?" demanded Justin somethingoranother.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Draco, furious. "I fell asleep in my own room and I woke up in here!"

"A likely story," commented Zacharias Smith smoothly. "Tell us really, Malfoy, are you keen on Ernie?"

"As if I'd harbor attractions to _that!_" snarled Malfoy, gesturing to Ernie. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't have time to associate with perverted, muggle-loving Hufflepuffs such as yourselves."

And with that Draco turned on his heels and sauntered out the door. His presence in the Hufflepuff common room was met with a healthy dose of shock and disbelief, but Draco merely ignored the stares and walked back to his own dorm in his pajamas, head held high.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: Aha, that last bit was really fun to write. The next chapter we will see what results ensue from Harry's revenge, and how it applies to both Draco and Harry.**

**Anyway tell me of your adoration, your criticism, your hopes, your dreams, and your problems via reviews!**


	6. Best Laid Plans Of Mice and Men

**Disclaimer: Do I **_**own**_** the **_**Harry Potter**_** series? Hahaha, if I had a nickel for every time I've been asked that question…**

**A/N: Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm back! Sorry for the wait. Anyway, this chapter is a little long, but I do love it, and it was extremely fun to write. Oh how I love questioning Draco's sexuality.**

oOoOoOo

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" cried Ron, only just managing to gasp out the words in between laughing fits. "That was the best prank we've _ever_ pulled on Malfoy _yet_!"

Hermione frowned, brows furrowing mildly. "Actually, I think this is the only prank we've pulled on Malfoy…"

"But imagine the look on his face when he wakes up!"

Harry giggled in agreement. He couldn't wait for breakfast. But in the meantime, the Trio decided to sleep for the remainder of the night, salvaging at least a small amount of energy for when they could fully enjoy the results of their genius hoax.

The three giddy Gryffindors reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione whispering the password. The Fat Lady's portrait cast them a bewildered glance before swinging open, revealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Ron and Harry stumbled through, practically crawling, trying desperately to stifle their guffaws as Hermione stepped in after them, rolling her eyes exasperatingly.

Harry collapsed on of the couches, a dim blaze in the fireplace casting strange shadows across his face as tears of laughter streamed down his face. He really couldn't believe that Ron's plan actually _worked! _Tomorrow was going to be the best day of his entire life! How the hell was he supposed to _sleep _until then?

Ron crawled across the room to Harry's couch, thumping his fist on the floor every once in a while as he cackled gleefully.

Pulling out a camera that looked suspiciously like something of Collin Creevey's, Hermione giggled. "I'll just develop these really quick, and then I'll…ahahaha…head to bed. But we'd better get up before everyone else, so we can…ahahaha…distribute them."

Harry and Ron nodded simultaneously, grinning manically. Everything was working out _perfectly_, nothing could _possibly_ go wrong!

oOoOoOo

"Did you hear? Draco Malfoy's secretly been shagging Ernie Macmillan!"

"Really? I heard that Malfoy's been blackmailing Ernie, forcing him to sleep with him or else Malfoy would send Death Eaters after Ernie's granny!"

"Have you seen the pictures? There's no doubt that they're in love! They're getting married in Italy next month!"

"Is that even allowed?"

Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, buzzed with excitement. At nearly every hallway or corridor within the castle walls there were huddles of students, exchanging pictures or sharing gossip and news.

"Draco and Ernie are secret lovers!"

"They both work for You-Know-Who!"

"They're actually a couple of grindylows disguised as Hogwarts students in order to spy for the Ministry!"

Meanwhile, just as the latest and hottest couple of the season was being discussed, laughed at, or cried over, Draco Malfoy was just waking up. He had managed to recover a few minute's sleep after the ordeal he had been through, and awoke refreshed and ready to take on the world.

Only, he passed off last night's drama as a mere nightmare, pretending it never happed. Because, really, how could he possibly get into the Hufflepuff Dorms without even knowing it? It was impossible! Preposterous! Ridiculous! Probably just the consequence of the funny-tasting ham he had eaten for dinner that night.

**Stage One: Denial**

Draco rose from his bed; sighing happily as he practically waltzed over to his window. Tearing open the curtains, Draco surveyed the scenery. The sky was blue, not a single cloud in sight. And the sunlit landscape was particularly beautiful this morning, Draco noticed. He smiled.

**A/N:** **Yes, folks, Draco Malfoy actually smiled. He didn't smirk, nor did he sneer; he smiled. Impossible, you say? Not in the least! Draco actually smiled quite often, usually when he was plotting various ways to murder, maim, or humiliate Harry Potter. But today Draco was only happy to be alive! The weather was perfect, the day promising, and he never found himself sleeping in the dorm of one Ernie Macmillan.**

…**Or **_**did**_** he?**

Draco flounced over to his dresser, and picked out his attire for the day. Jamming his legs into his pants, Draco hummed cheerfully. Today was going to be the best day of his whole life, he could just_ feel_ it.

Just as Draco was packing his book bag, his stomach rumbled ferociously, alerting him that it was time to eat.

He quickly finished his packing and pranced out the door, destination: Great Hall, mission: breakfast.

As Draco crossed the many halls on his way to breakfast, he noticed that students of Hogwarts seemed particularly happy today as well. Or rather, giggly, he supposed. Nearly everyone he passed were laughing, snickering, or pointing gleefully. Not once did he deduce, however, that these actions were directed towards _him_.

Finally reaching the Great Hall, Draco almost skipped over to the Slytherin table and took his place across from Blaise Zabini and between two of his goons, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. His arrival was met with several glares from the Slytherins, but Draco paid no mind. The Slytherins were a gloomy bunch anyway.

"Good morning, my dear friends!" exclaimed Draco joyfully.

Crabbe and Goyle, who were rather occupied with their food at the moment, only grunted in reply.

Blaise Zabini, on the other hand, gave Draco an enormous grin, never a good sign for Draco. "Why, hello, Pumpkin! Hungry after your midnight _snack?_"

Draco frowned mildly as he piled his plate with bacon and eggs. "Midnight snack? What in heaven's name are you talking about, Blaise?"

Blaise blinked in surprise at the use of his first name, but quickly recovered. "But, _Draco_, dearie, you don't know what I mean? What, you don't remember _this?_"

Blaise waved a piece of paper in Draco's face, and Draco grabbed it, curious.

There, on the sheet of paper, was the large moving image of Draco Malfoy cuddling Ernie Macmillan in a bed. Underneath the picture was colorful text that read, _Did everyone hear? The Ferret's a queer!_

Blood pounding in his ears, Draco could feel his face flush. His fingers tightened into a fist, crushing the paper he held in his hand.

**Stage Two: Anger**

"There are millions of them!" declared Blaise happily. "And that clever phrase right there isn't the only one. There are several others, all of which question your sexuality. Isn't it genius?"

"_Very,_" replied Draco curtly, raising from his chair, appetite gone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have some _business _attend to."

Draco quickly strutted out of the dining hall, ignoring the many stares and chuckles that followed him.

Draco's anger soon escalated from rage to intense fury, until all he could see was red. His wrath was met by numerous unlucky first years, whom Draco questioned about the flyers with a vengeance. None of which gave him a very clear answer, though, but only cowered at Draco's almighty temper.

At last Draco was informed by a terrified Ravenclaw that the papers were found lying all over the Hogwarts premises, and that no one knew who made them. Draco abandoned the shaking Ravenclaw, and walked the halls, seething.

So, someone decided to play dirty with Draco, _did they?_ Pulled a nasty prank on him, _did they?_ Think they'd get away with it, _did they? _Well, Draco swore right then and there that he wouldn't let that happen. He would expose the culprit for their thoughtlessness and irrationality, for they should know, Draco Malfoy was not to be reckoned with. And Draco Malfoy was going to prove exactly that.

Draco stopped in his tracks. _But how,_ he questioned, _am I going to do that? _True, Draco was considerably gifted in the art of spreading fear and terror. He had an image to maintain, after all. Draco was the ridiculously wealthy and handsome, and exceptionally intimidating Slytherin bastard of the school, but he wasn't used to _proving _it. It was just _known_. So how _was_ he going to prove it? Draco didn't know, but he'd figure that out on the way.

First things first, he had to find and punish the prankster for his foolish shenanigans. …Now, who would most likely be the one to carry some sort of vendetta against Draco? Who would want to ruin Draco's reputation and humiliate him in front of the entire student body? Who would have friends stupid enough to come up with the idea, but clever enough to carry them out?

Harry Potter, that's who.

But, Draco rationalized; he would not simply hunt Potter down and kill him in the most sadistic and brutal manner humanly possible. No, this time he would not let his anger get the better of him. Potter might possess more evidence to support Draco's nonexistent preference towards those of the male variety. Draco would be _smart_ this time; he would do nothing to provoke Potter's ire. Draco would reason with Potter. And, as Draco possessed a large amount of wealth, and, he liked to think, power, he had the means with which to make his arch-rival see his side of things.

**Stage Three: Bargaining**

**A/N: That's right folks, Draco was going to bribe poor Harry so hard he wouldn't know what corrupted him. Draco has reached a certain stage of maturity in his life when he realizes that he can't keep using mere force to control others. No, Draco has learned that there are certain people he will have to deal with who will require a **_**little **_**more than fear to manipulate them. Namely, money.**

Alright. Draco had a victim, now it was time to put his plan into action. Draco turned on his heels and stalked down the corridor, scanning the various clusters of students for that black-haired, scar-headed freak. He continued his search until he reached the Great Hall, where he hid in the shadows, watching the throng of people as they exited the dining hall, finished with their breakfast. But since there weren't very many shadows in the Great Hall (it's a very bright room, what with no visible ceiling and all that), many a student noticed Draco lurking around in what little darkness there was. The sight of Draco Malfoy creeping along the walls and staring intently at the crowd was about as welcome as a satchel of angry scorpions and unnerved several Hufflepuffs on their way to class. But Draco remained focused and didn't let anything distract him. He only had eyes for Potter.

After the Great Hall was nearly empty, and Draco could see that none of the remaining students even resembled Potter and his filthy mop of hair, Draco decided to wander the halls again. Since Draco had potions with Potter next, he knew that class started in an hour and a half, which gave him time to hunt the stupid Gryffindor down. And although Potter and his friends would probably be somewhere in the Gryffindor common room, slaying dragons or whatever they did in there, it wasn't likely that some friendly neighborhood Gryffindor would just _let_ Draco in. He wasn't exactly popular with the Gryffindor-types. Moreover, he wasn't even sure if he _could _get in.

On the other hand, Potter _did_ somehow manage to transfer Draco from his own comfy warm bed into the bed of one Ernie Macmillan.

Draco shook his head. He wasn't willing to risk it. He might set off an alarm of some sort. Besides, Draco would rather eat his own feet than enter that place.

So the Great Hall was out, and the Gryffindor common room was a no-go, what next? The Library? No, Potter couldn't read…Quidditch field? No, the Hufflepuffs were practicing today…

_Wait a second_…of _course _Potter wouldn't be in _any _of those places! No, Draco remembered the laxatives he and Zabini had cleverly feed the unsuspecting Gryffindor, and he knew they were enchanted to last at least twenty-four hours…

There was only one place Potter could be.

The bathroom.

oOoOoOo

Harry Potter checked his black hair in the mirror as he dried off his hands. Messy, as usual. He ran his long fingers through his tangled mane, making it more disheveled than it was before. Harry examined his hair again. _Hmm, not bad._ Harry had learned early in life to embrace his eternally tousled hair, since it was virtually impossible to tame it. Besides, messy hair was considered fashionable this season.

Harry placed the towel next to the sink and exited the restroom, humming happily. So far he'd made about six and a half trips to the toilet within three hours. But Harry was sure that the laxatives were wearing off now; the uncomfortable feeling he felt in his abdomen was getting increasingly tolerable, and he heard less of those embarrassing rumbles his stomach made as time marched on.

Even better, _Operation Ferret Season_ was going just as planned. Though, Harry wasn't quite sure why their prank was called _Operation Ferret Season_. He suspected Ron had something to do with it.

Harry made his way down the hallway as he pondered this, wondering vaguely if Malfoy was miserable. He really hoped so. He had seen Ferret Boy storm out of the Great Hall this morning, pure fury stamped on his measly face. It was sight to behold, and right then Harry would have given away many of his vital organs for a camera.

Yes, it was a good day so far. But if there was anything Harry Potter had learned during his stay at Hogwarts, School of Annoying Crap and Misery, it was that good days did not last long. In fact, Harry expected something to jump out at him and ruin his day, right that moment.

"_Ahhhh!"_

Harry yelped as he felt something grab the collar of his shirt and he looked down, startled. Sure enough, the thing yanking him violently was a hand, which was connected to an arm, which was extended from a classroom doorway.

**A/N: Okay, so nothing technically **_**jumped out**_** at Harry, but grabbing him by the front of his shirt is close enough, right?**

"_Ghraaahhhh!"_ roared Harry as he clawed at the hand, which was pulling him into the empty classroom. Harry did not like being forced into an empty classroom against his will, no matter if he was being pulled in by a vengeful Dark Lord, or his best friend Ron.

**A/N: Okay, so maybe Harry has a problem with authority, but really, he's had bad experiences in the past. You can't really blame him.**

Harry continued his incomprehensible protests as he was pushed against a wall, pain shooting up his spine as he attempted to reach for his wand.

"Really, Ron, these unexpected attacks really aren't necessary…" Harry trailed off as his gaze was met by none other than Draco Malfoy, the bad-boy Slytherin Prince himself.

Instantly Harry jumped to his feet, brandishing his wand at the blond-haired boy.

"Now, now, Potty," drawled Draco, raising his one eyebrow lazily. "There's no need for such uncivilized tactics. Though, I really shouldn't have expected any different from the likes of you, uncultured Gryffindor though you are."

Harry's face flushed, but he stood his ground and kept his wand aimed at Draco's heart. "What do you want, _Malfoy?_"

"Only to make a proposition, _Potter_," sneered Draco, lowing Harry's wand with one finger.

"A proposition?" repeated Harry warily.

"Yes, a proposition. I'm assuming you know what that means, Scarhead."

Harry glared. "I'm aware of the definition, thanks, but I'm not sure what _you're_ suggesting."

"Put the wand away, Potty, and I'll tell you," said Draco firmly.

Hesitantly, Harry obeyed, placing his wand in the pocket of his robe, but making certain that his hand was nearby in case Draco tried something.

Draco smirked. "Finally learning to listen to those superior to you, Potter? I applaud you."

Harry's hands tightened into fists. "Tell me what you want, Ferret, or I'm leaving."

"Oh, I think you know," said Draco, examining his fingernails.

"No, I don't, actually."

Draco sighed, scowling at Harry. "Fine. Let me spell it out for you; I _know_ you did this to me and I want you to _fix _it."

"Fix what?" asked Harry bemusedly.

"Fix _this_," exclaimed Draco, gesticulating wildly in the air. "Fix what happened last night, Potter, and believe me, there will be rewards."

_OH. So that's what he's going on about._ Harry stifled a laugh. Of course! The prank Harry and his friends had pulled on Draco had worked better than they ever could have dreamed. The whole school thought Draco was gay, and now he was begging Harry to reverse it! Harry snorted, doubling up with laughter. It was all too funny! Harry sat down on the floor, tears of mirth running down his cheeks.

Draco eyes flashed with annoyance. "Get up, Potter, you'll get the floor dirty."

This did nothing to suppress Harry's amusement, however, but only heightened it. Draco's face was tinged with pink by the time Harry was hammering the floor with his fist as he howled with laughter.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped, and Harry sat up, gasping heavily as he tried to catch his breath. Draco stared down at Harry, a very strange look on his face, something Harry had never seen before. Was it anger? …Yes, definitely anger, but there was something else too, something…was it…_embarrassment?_ Harry's eyes widened. Was it _possible _that Draco Malfoy was _embarrassed?_

"Are you done?" snapped Draco, crossing his arms.

Harry grinned up at Draco. "You're actually pretty uncomfortable with this situation, aren't you? You really don't want this to ruin your reputation."

Draco sniffed, jutting his chin out. "Well, now that you mention it, the supposed fact that I…slept with another…man…does not look very good on my record. But if you quash the rumors, I'm more than willing to…pay you."

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Do I really look that thick to you?"

"I don't think you're thick," said Draco, eyes widening in innocence. "But then, what's my own humble opinion against thousands of others?"

Harry scowled. "Look, no matter what you think, I'm not stupid enough to be manipulated by the likes of you. And besides, I have enough money."

"Doubt that," muttered Draco, staring pointedly at Harry's hand-me-downs.

"_What's more,_" continued Harry, ignoring Draco's offensive remark, "I can't suddenly debunk the rumors."

"Why not?" demanded Draco.

"Because they're so _believable_!"

At this Draco scoffed, running his hand through his hair.

"See?" exclaimed Harry, pointing at Draco's head. "It's just _that! _Your _hair! _What kind of self-respecting _man_ would care about his hair so much? It's…unnatural."

Draco sniffed derisively. "Just because I take care not to let my head look like a soiled mop, Potter, doesn't automatically make me queer."

"And the way you _act!_" added Harry enthusiastically. "Don't even get me started on _that!_"

"What do you mean?" asked Draco sharply.

"Well…you're just so…_prissy_ all the time."

"I am not!"

"And every time we face something relatively frightening in Care of Magical Creatures, you're completely terrified. You've got no backbone."

"_What?_ Just because I don't go running blindly into danger-"

"And you kind of walk weird, like, using your hips and stuff."

"I do _not_," scoffed Draco, ears red.

"Plus, you scream like a girl," finished Harry.

"Like a _girl?_" sputtered Draco.

Harry nodded, smirking.

Draco took a deep breath, apparently attempting to compose himself. "Alright, Potter. I see how it is. Obviously, you're not willing to assist me. Understood. But just know this; I _will_ get you back, believe me, and when I do, you _will _be sorry. I swear it. And once I'm finished with you, _you're_ going to be crawling back to _me_, I promise you."

And with that, Draco turned on his heel and strode out, robe billowing out from behind him.

Harry blinked, realizing that he was still sitting down. Sitting up, he stared bemusedly at the open doorway. He was pretty sure that that was probably the most bizarre thing he'd ever heard come out of Draco Malfoy's mouth.

Meanwhile, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were whispering and giggling excitedly behind the open door. And, unbeknownst to Harry and Draco, they had heard Draco's last little speech. And in that moment, they knew the truth: Draco and Harry were having a fight. But Draco and Harry really did love each other, because Draco and Harry were secretly dating.

oOoOoOo

**A/N: Dun, dun, DUN! That's right, folks, Harry and Draco are **_**dating **_**now! Oh the tangled fics we weave…**

**By the way, I enjoyed writing Harry and Draco's conversation exceedingly. It's all so…**_**suggestive**_**. Ahaha, I love it.**

**So…tell me if you like it, love it, or want more of it via reviews!**


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